Protected
by Alone in the Desert
Summary: What happens when the roles reverse and Kel, someone who is used to being strong finds herself in need of the protection she usually gives? Pride comes before the fall. COMPLETE.
1. Pride

Protected 

This, thought the knight, darkness falling down, oppressive and heavy as a quilt, has got to be the worst day of my life.

But it had all started weeks ago, when an army platoon, headed by three knights, was sent to sort out unrest between humans and ogres, just east of the Royal Forest. The weather was foggy, and miserable. The soldiers were almost all young, many of them new, and almost all of those were convicts, destitute refugees, or malcontents. One of the knights was middle-aged while the other two were young. Green, to his eyes. 

The conditions were far from ideal, but one had to make the best with the cards one was dealt by the gods (who, after all, knew best). So the knight made do with the weather, with the orders of a commander who disrespected anyone under thirty-five, and she made do with the endless motivational speeches the soldiers required, just to keep up the routine of marching. After all, Keladry of Mindelan was far from unused to circumstances far from idyllic. 

After weeks of marching ten feet at a time -- because that was as far as they could see -- the soldiers began voicing grumbles, and not just from their stomachs. We are serving our great kingdom, paying our debt of fealty to our king and queen, Kel drummed into them -- and herself. It is my duty, she chanted through gritted teeth as they stopped, again, to find their lost path in Sir Martin's maps. 

They started losing soldiers. Sir Martin said nothing of it, not to the young knights and not to the men in the camp. Sir Zahir stated boldly that three bold and willing men were better than a thousand back stabbing cowards, and went back to talking about his wife and family. Kel was walking in the direction of the troops' fires, contemplating her well-rehearsed speech with disdain, when Sir Martin caught up with her and placed a hand, quite lightly, on her shoulder. 

"You are young," he said stiffly, but not coldly. 

"Yes, sir," said Keladry. "It has been established that I'm only twenty five." 

Sir Martin shook his head. "Not just in age, Lady Knight," he protested firmly, "but in spirit. You make up for your practicality with youthful idealism. Our esteemed monarchs find it refreshing, but I find it a liability." 

Kel raised an eyebrow and said nothing. 

"Yes, a liability," insisted Sir Martin. "You cannot see what is, because you are blinded by what you believe should be. Soldiers defect; it is a fact all commanders have learned to contend themselves with. And yet you, you brash young thing, take each desertion as a blow to your ancestral pride. It will do no good." 

Kel listened in silence. 

"Do you understand me, Lady Knight? Will you cease, immediately, this ridiculous interaction with the men?" demanded Sir Martin steadfastly. 

Kel was stone. "Yes, sir." 

She turned her back on the men and went to wash, as much as the surroundings allowed, and catch her sleep. Somehow, she was sure she would wake up to a camp almost unnoticeably diminished in size. And, although she wasn't sure, she strongly felt that a talk with the men would help. At least let them see that their superiors were aware of their strife. Maybe that would awaken their latent sense of duty. 

Sir Martin made no more mention of her youth or Zahir's, although Zahir mentioned his wife and two sons no less frequently. The weather cleared up only a little bit, provision did not improve, and their clothes could scarcely be damper without leaving the path behind them a creek. Kel fought her sinking mood, reminding herself of her oaths, her bed, her friends, and anything else she could think of. She knew she must not become careless. 

At a crossroads they passed there was a small town, with a courier service stop. Kel scribbled a hasty note to Neal, and another to her parents. Poor weather, but no great danger. Don't worry. Hoping you are well, and to see you soon. Nothing out of the ordinary. The letters lifted her spirit. 

"Things will improve," she said to Hoshi. "They're bound to." 

She was wrong. 

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Disclaimer: The world of Tortall and all details therein are the property of Tamora Pierce, as are all characters except Sir Martin. He, and the plot and wording of this story, are my own property and may not be copied without permission. 


	2. Fall

Protected 

It had been almost a week since their postal stop. The men were heartened, Zahir was chatty, in a proud sort of way, and Kel's dark mood was lifting. It was evening; they had marched late, eaten hastily, and were laying out the travel routes for the next few days. 

"And this road doesn't lead to any river-crossing, not in this season," Kel pointed out. 

"True," agreed Sir Martin. "Our choice is, therefore, to travel along the bank until we reach the nearest bridge. Fording this river is unlikely, what with the depth and rockiness of its bed." 

The young knights nodded their understanding. 

"Is there a riverside road we can follow?" Zahir asked. 

"We are to follow the course of the river, upstream, along several game and herding paths," Sir Martin decreed. "Don't worry, they _are_ all interconnected." 

Kel nodded silently, and looked at Zahir, wondering if the split in the road they had passed that morning had occurred to him. She was certain she'd seen a woodsman's marking there that the divergent road led to a bridged river. Sir Martin had led them well enough so far, and the weather didn't promise a risk of flooding. If Sir Martin was in a rush to get home… 

She followed her orders, and the course she was dictated, even if Hoshi was less than happy about the muddy little cattle trail. Not long before the midday stop on the following day, Kel caught sight her sulking and reprimanded herself quite sternly. Duty, orders, and respect for your elders. Just accept what's been dealt you and make the best of it, she reminded herself as she took Hoshi to water. 

Later on in the afternoon, Zahir seemed to be trying to shake off a bad feeling. She saw him stop his fine Bhazir mare and look up to the cloudy horizon -- or down to the rushing water bellow the boggy bank. More than once she lost sight of him and then spotted him dawdling behind the party, almost out of earshot, or just around a bend. His uneasiness hardly put her to rest; she did not know him well, but she remembered him to have a healthy intuition and strong woodsman's skills. 

It was on the second morning along the river that the ominous atmosphere bore actual fruit. As though by design, it was to Kel herself that misfortune fell hardest. They had made a short stop, and she was climbing down to the river for water. As she was making her way off the path, she slipped. A soldier standing nearby made a grab for her arm, to no avail. 

Enough of Kel's self-control was left to her to keep from shrieking as she tumbled down the slippery bank, over sharp stones and clumps of weeds or thorny bushes, bumping and bruising her way down to the river. When she finally came to a thudding stop she let slip a moaning "Ugh!" and bit her lip. 

Better not try to move, yet, she thought immediately. 

Gingerly, Kel moved an arm. She was sore. She moved her arm some more, then the other. Placing both thorn-pricked hands firmly in the muddy bank, she pushed down, trying to stand on her knees. 

Dizziness overwhelmed her; slowly, she brought herself back down to rest in the squelching goo and took several deep breaths. 

"Easy, now," she mumbled as she tried, more carefully this time, to get her head up. 

Hands were slipped under her arms. Before she could protest, she was hoisted up forcefully, dragged some short distance, and then lowered onto a large, mossy boulder. Voices rang in her ears. 

"Easy now, Lady Knight." 

"How bad?" 

"Where does it hurt?" 

"Does she hear us?" 

"Sir, we should take her to a healer--" 

"Can you hear us?" 

"Lady Keladry!" 

Finally her dim stupor rose enough for her to answer. She shook fluttering hands like buzzing bees away, feebly. "I'm fine, yes, it wasn't that bad of a fall." She heard what sounded like a sigh of relief to her left. 

"Lady Keladry, are you merely bruised, or are there more serious injuries?" Sir Martin inquired insistently. 

"No, nothing," answered Kel. 

"Are you sure?" he added, frowning. 

"Sir," Zahir was saying, "look at her arm." 

Disturbed, Kel followed the young knight's advice and looked down at both her arms. One was scratched to the elbow and had a few colorful bruises coated in mud stuck with bits of grass and leaves. The other looks worse. It must have taken the weight of her fall, to be so battered. Carefully, she felt along it with her fingertips. 

"Not broken," she declared. 

"Is it serviceable?" asked Sir Martin. 

Of that, Kel wasn't sure. Her forearm was bruised, but that wasn't much of a problem. Worse was the swelled look of three of her fingers. My right arm, she thought grimly. My sword arm. Narrowing her eyes at the offending appendage, she stated firmly: "Serviceable." 

She took no help, climbing back up to the trail, and none mounting Hoshi. She gathered her reins with both gloved hands, trying her hardest to pretend she wasn't favoring the left. It was just a fall, she repeated to herself. A warrior's strength is not measured by his injuries, but by his ability to work through them. As the company rode on, Keladry let the Yamani lesson sink deep in. 

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Disclaimer: The world of Tortall and all details therein are the property of Tamora Pierce, as are all characters except Sir Martin. He, and the plot and wording of this story, are my own property and may not be copied without permission. 


	3. Shame

Protected 

Kel's hurts certainly didn't make her life easy. At roadside stops she made sure to clean them with cold, clean water and rest her right hand as much as possible. She prayed fervently that Sir Martin and the men did not notice; the last thing she needed was to be sent back, or grounded to a village healer while the insensitive older knight went on to the mission unsupervised. Kel had a nasty feeling he may favor the humans over the ogres. 

How many times had she been told that, while a knight's duty was aggressive, negotiation and diplomacy were one of the realm's strongest weapons? The peace between humans and law-abiding immortals was tenuous; her duty was to protect it. The Tortallan ogres were peaceable-- and a potentially valuable asset, in time. Would she let a few bumps and bruises keep her from her duty? She'd known Zahir as a page; knew his violent and bullying ways. She would not trust her kingdom's internal peace to a thug and an old-fashioned bigot. 

With these thoughts, Kel went on, along the river and over the bridge Sir Martin had been aiming for. A day and a half into the other bank she thought she saw Zahir study her with a frown. Advising herself to caution, she began paying attention to his incessant prattling about his family again. There was no knowing, with his type. Hadn't she learned that when Lalasa was kidnapped? 

The journey was improving; they lost no more men. Sir Martin made his decisions in the evenings virtually unchallenged. Kel's mind often wandered at these times, but Sir Martin didn't seem to notice or care. He probably prefers it that way, she decided. That way he knows I won't stick my youthful nose into his planning and exquisite leadership. 

One morning, well before they had packed camp and mounted up, Zahir approached Kel. 

"May we have a private word?" he requested, quietly. 

Kel nodded, and let Zahir lead her out of earshot but within sight of the quickly disappearing camp. She studied him half-heartedly. What could he possibly want to discuss with her? 

"I didn't want the soldiers to overhear," he began, "but I've been watching you since your slip on the riverbank. You'd taken quite a bruising there, and you've been favoring your left hand ever since." He paused, but Kel was silent, her eyes intent on his. 

"If that were it, I wouldn't be worried. Bruises heal quickly enough, and we didn't get into any fights, so as long as you could ride it didn't matter. But there are other things, too. You've been less active, less concentrated. You look flushed, and you've been drinking a lot of water. We didn't think your fall caused any serious injuries, but the ones you sustained may have sparked a fever that your body has not had enough rest to throw off. You should really --" 

"What?" she interrupted him. "Crawl back to the palace with my tail between my legs?" 

Zahir frowned. "That's not what I said at all. This foray we're on, it's not a battle, and it's not something we couldn't handle without you. There's no reason why you can't stop for two or three days, rest a little, and wait out this fever. You'd probably even be able to catch up with us on the road!" 

"Well," answered Keladry, "that's assuming this fever you talk about is even real. I haven't _felt_ feverish," she said smoothly. 

"You're not up to your usual strength," argued Zahir. "You used to talk to the soldiers each night, and then all of a sudden you stopped." 

"Those talks were meant to stem the depletion of our force," Keladry countered, getting angry. "Obviously, there have been no more desertions." 

"Is that the reason you stopped?" the dark eyes she met were flashing. 

"No, if you _must_ know," she said in a soft, accentuated tone, "Sir Martin _ordered_ me to stop." 

There was a pause in the match. 

"Consider my words, Lady Knight," Zahir said finally, his voice cold and contemptuous. "Your Yamani tricks of mind will not help us much if we are attacked by an aggressive and armed enemy, and your sword-arm fails you in the heat of battle. Our soldiers are mostly green, and fewer then we rode out with. We need fighting men, not an injured liability such as yourself." 

Kel listened, her fury growing. Yamani tricks of mind? He would wish he knew such tricks! He was jealous, plain and simple, and he wanted her out of the way as he had back when they were both pages. 

Most of all, he convinced himself that she was weak, when he knew otherwise, or should. She would show him who was weak, here; she'd done it before. His choice of words exposed him: hadn't Sir Martin called her "a liability" only days ago? 

With an effort of will, Keladry schooled her face to stone--feeling oblivious rivers rush over her as she stood

"I warn you, Sir Zahir ibn Ilhaz," she said, coolly, "do not make this personal." 

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Disclaimer: The world of Tortall and all details therein are the property of Tamora Pierce, as are all characters except Sir Martin. He, and the plot and wording of this story, are my own property and may not be copied without permission. 


	4. Fever

Protected 

After Zahir's unfounded accusations, Kel's demeanor toward him was deliberately cool and scornful. He surveyed her with a similar expression. Only in the evenings, when they gathered with Sir Martin to discuss their course, their soldiers, and their dwindling supplies. It was clear they would have to stop to replenish very soon; in fact, Sir Martin insisted on stopping at the nearest village that could accommodate them. 

The village stop was a pleasant change for the men. Having arrived in the late afternoon, they had plenty of time to set up camp to Sir Martin's satisfaction, who then agreed to let two thirds of their force spend their time in the village, while the remainder kept watch. He also left a sergeant in command, so all three knights had their time to themselves. 

Ignoring Zahir, not even interested in his plans, Kel headed straight for the village temple. She prayed to Mithros an the Goddess, and left token offerings for both. As she was uninterested in the tavern, the only building of note in the village other than the tiny temple and the locked and bolted blacksmith's shop, she decided to take a walk. 

The evening was cold, but Kel didn't mind. Having an evening away from the veiled threat of Zahir was a blessing, regardless of the weather. She strayed, trusting her sense of direction to guide her back to the camp in the dark. When she noticed the damp ground underneath her feet getting softer and boggier and the air around her more humid and buzzing with flies, she turned her heel and walked back to the village. No sense walking into a swamp. 

"A might odd thing, seein' a knight out alone in a place like this." Turning quickly at the sound of a voice to her left, Kel bared her sword, alert. "Evenin', sir knight," said the voice, which appeared to belong to an old woman, standing beneath a large oak. 

"Good evening, mistress," replied Kel, still cautious. 

"Aww, just call me Grandmother Genda, m'dear. Everyone else does." The woman approached Kel. 

Kel sheathed her sword. No use scaring the poor old woman, is there? 

"I'm glad to see you put that thing away," said Genda, "I never been a lover of cold steel." 

"It's the steel I use to protect myself, Grandmother," Kel replied, "so you must excuse me if I'm biased in its favor." 

"Of course, m'dear," said Genda kindly. "Might not you be the lass? The lady knight?" 

"I am," acknowledged Kel. 

Genda smiled. "'Tis a strong thing you do, if hard. And you look like a strong and hard lass." 

Kel made a face. A strong and hard lass? That was one way to put it. 

"The strong fear their weaknesses," Genda was saying, her expression that of a sage or profound oracle. "Fear you your own weakness, Lady Knight?" 

One short, sharp shake of the head delivered Keladry's answer. 

The unthreatening woman drew closer. In a mothering gesture, she placed a hand on Kel's cheek. Then her eyes grew sad, and she shook her head. "Wrong you answer, m'dear. I feel a fever in your blood." 

"No." Keladry drew away, anger in the hardened lines of her face. "I'll hear no more of this talk of fevers and weakness, mistress. Who put you up to this? As Mithros is my witness, you tell me to whom you answer!" 

"I answer to my king and the Goddess," said the woman, "no one else." 

"Lies," said the knight flatly, getting angrier and angrier. "_Tell me!_" 

The woman began walking away. "Don't do this, lass. You're ruinnin' yerself." And she left. 

A furious Kel started back to camp, her booted feet pounding the ground, muttering oaths under her breath. She was flushed for fury - that was it. She knew they were all against her. Hadn't they been, since the very first day? Sabotaging her calling, that's what they were doing. The likes of them would damn the realm, if she let them. But she'd never let that happen. 

Walking resolutely into the camp, after having reached it in record time, she headed straight for the officers' tents. These were all set up, just like the rest of the camp. The flap of one tent was already down; Sir Martin was asleep. Rather than follow his lead, she waited near the second tent. Any moment now, he would come, and find her already there. Won't that be a shock? 

"I warned you, ibn Ilhaz," she hissed from the shadows, as the man's form approached the tent. 

His eyes were searching for her. "Mindelan?" 

"I thought we had reached an understanding. You were to leave me be." 

"Mindelan," his voice sounded annoyed, "what are you doing?" 

"Anything I must in order to secure my freedom from your attempts to undermine my knighthood." 

Even in the dark she could see his face form a scowl. "That is absurd. If you speak of the matter of your disputed health, I was only doing my duty. It would harm you and the rest of us if you were to press beyond your body's ability to cope." 

"I was not – " She'd been leaning a hand on a sapling that grew between her tent and Zahir's. But, through the darkness, her vision was getting blotchy. She was dizzy. She rested more of her weight on the trunk her hand was on. 

"Mindelan?" she heard a faraway voice saying, and then, "Lady Knight!" Then she heard no more. 

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Disclaimer: The world of Tortall and all details therein are the property of Tamora Pierce, as are all characters except Sir Martin. He, and the plot and wording of this story, are my own property and may not be copied without permission. 


	5. Trial

Protected 

She'd been shamed by Sir Martin's calling her a liability. She'd been shamed by Zahir's questioning her health. Finding out her pagehood enemy had been right all along was more than shame for Keladry of Mindelan – it was humiliation. She awoke in her tent with a healer squatting by her bedroll. Her head pounded, and she was shivering cold. 

"More blankets," she heard the healer say, "and something hot for her to drink." 

She started to moan, then bit her lip. The healer turned to her. 

"You gave me a scare, Lady Knight," she said, her voice deep and kind. "To lose the likes of you under my care, and from nothing more than a simple fever?" She shook her head. 

Kel slowly tried to sit up and noticed something different about her arms. 

"I treated some of the worst bruises and scrapes," said the healer. "They wouldn't have done much harm, other than stinging. But you left yourself too little resources, and your body's reaction to being hurt wouldn't go away. I can tell you're a stubborn one; most soldiers are. But you just can't fight your own body." 

Kel opened her mouth, and croaked. When the healer had given her some water she gave her reply. "Yamanis do it all the time." 

"What was that?" The healer was mixing some strong-smelling potions. 

"I said, Yamani warriors do it all the time," repeated Kel. "Control their body's reactions with their mind, I mean." 

"I bet they pay for it, too," the woman retorted. 

"They don't let their body keep them from doing their duty," insisted Kel. 

The healer shook her head nd resumed her mixing, eventually bringing Kel a wooden cup to drink from. "I'll not have you fainting with fever again, m'dear." 

"Yes, Grandmother Genda," answered a sleepy Kel, turning over in the bedroll. 

"I see you met my ma," the healer said softly, adding another blanket to the knight's already piled coverings. 

When Kel awoke, it was evening, and the healer was gone from her tent. She felt alert, and hungry. Getting up, she popped her head out of the flap and looked around. The camp was lively with soldiers and a few villagers, packing food, water and other lacking supplies onto the few horses they had marched from Corus with. Fires were burning, and she smelled cooking meals everywhere. 

"Lady Knight!" It was Sir Martin, who called her to join Zahir and himself at their fire. 

Silent, Kel ate. The two men did not speak, either, until all three of them had finished. 

"The healer assured me that, once you regained consciousness, your condition would not be severe," began Sir Martin. "However, she was quite adamant about the amount of rest you required to return to your full ability and health. We cannot dawdle here that long. I received communications that we are to make for Grayside with all due speed." 

"What does that mean?" asked Kel, her voice Yamani-calm. 

Sir Martin did not hesitate. "You either remain in this village, and ride after us in two days' time, or come with us…" 

"Sir?" she probed. 

"In a litter." 

A cold silence persisted. 

"Sir?" repeated the lady knight. 

"I give you a choice in this matter," said Sir Martin. "Appreciate it. You have until dawn to decide. Give the matter all due consideration," Sir Martin advised gravely. 

She did just so, sitting on her cot staring in the dark. If you believe that healer, a fever is no different from getting hurt in a scuffle with bullies, or injured in battle, she told herself. Healers are smart people, usually, she added. Not just anyone can become one. She must know what she's talking about. Is it that bad to rest, every once in a while? 

As she reasoned with herself, she heard a soft tapping on the flap of her tent. "Come in!" she called. 

It was a bit of a shock seeing Zahir step in, but Keladry masked it well. 

"I'd like to discuss this bad blood between us," said Zahir. 

"What about it?" she asked. 

"You…" he started hesitantly, "have treated me with enmity for some time. I think I can understand why. But you, too, must understand some things about me." 

"Such as?" inquired Kel. 

He leveled his eyes at hers. "Some people never change," he said clearly, "but I am not one of those people." 

"Meaning," Kel elaborated, "that I should not hold your behavior as a page against you?" 

Zahir shook his head. "Meaning Page Zahir should no more plague you than Page Vinson or Page Joren," he corrected. 

Kel thought for a while. "I don't know who you are," she said honestly. "How do I know I _won't_ feel enmity for you when I do?" 

"I only ask that you don't assume it, Mindelan," Zahir answered with a sigh. 

After some more thought, she decided, "That I can do." 

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Disclaimer: The world of Tortall and all details therein are the property of Tamora Pierce, as are all characters except Sir Martin and the healer. They, and the plot and wording of this story, are my own property and may not be copied without permission. 


	6. Failure

Protected 

Sir Martin was watching her. Kel was quite sure of that as she helped take down tents and pack supplies. It was understandable, the knight reasoned to herself strenuously. I still haven't told him my choice. As far as he can tell, I may not have made up my mind, yet. Steadfastly she ignored her own lacking will to go through with her decision. It wasn't that she didn't know what the good choice was, but rather that the good choice was unusually unpleasant. Kel hated doubt. 

Once all was unsaid and done, Kel went to saddle Hoshi. The mare looked at her with that non-judgmental look that she'd learned long ago meant she was standing in judgment, and the verdict didn't look good. "I know, Hoshi," the knight said miserably. "I'll go tell him as soon as I'm done here." 

She left her leather jerkin draped on a tree-stump where Hoshi could keep an eye on it, and went to look for Sir Martin. "Sir!" 

"Lady Knight!" He was overseeing the last bits of working in tearing down the camp. Zahir was nearby, saddling his beautiful Bhazir mare. Kel couldn't be sure, but she had an idea that he might be listening as he buckled strap after strap. "Have you made up your mind about what we discussed?" 

"Yes, sir." She took a deep breath. "I've decided to stay here in the village for a day or two, and ride to Grayside alone, when I am well." 

"I believe you made the right choice, Lady Knight," replied Sir Martin with approval. 

"I know you did," muttered the girl under her breath. 

"What was that?" 

"Nothing, sir," said Kel. "If you'll excuse me, I believe I'll lodge at the inn for the next two nights." 

"Well enough, Lady Knight," said he. "At worst our ride will last a week more. I expect we shall meet again when we start our way back to Corus." 

"Yes, sir," she agreed, and went to fetch Hoshi. From the corner of her eye she noticed Zahir fiddling with the perfectly buckled straps of his saddle. Their eyes met, but he did not flinch. Instead, he smiled, and she returned his smile tiredly. Perhaps she was glad of a day or two's rest, even if she'd never admit as much to her Yamani friends, or even to her mother. At that thought Kel decided now was as good a time as any to catch up on all her letter-writing. She loved her work even in its bitter moments, but friends and family often complained about how little they saw of her. Ever dutiful, Lady Keladry did her best to maintain contact through letters. 

They ride to the village was soft, and Hoshi took good care of her. She made quite sure the mare was stabled and fed before trudging into the inn's common room, saddlebags slung over one broad shoulder. Once she'd paid and been shown her room, she settled herself at a table with writing equipment from her traveling desk and cider from the inn's cellar. 

"I deserve this," she said to herself. "It's mid-morning, and my greatest worry in the world is who to write first, my brother or my best friend. I slipped and hurt myself, and then developed a fever. I deserve this." 

She wrote to Anders and Neal, first. Then she wrote her parents, her sister Oranie, Owen, Lalasa, Merric, Esmond, even Prince Roald and Cleon. By dusk she had a mountain of signed and sealed letters before her, and the ink-spots on her hands resisted water and soap. Shaking her head at her own exaggeration, Kel stretched her cramped muscles, stowed her letters and ordered dinner. Tomorrow she could write more letters, or perhaps mend her clothes and equipment. Minding healer's orders, she went to bed early. 

Her aching body found sleep almost as soon as she lay down. Her next waking recollection was of an anxious thud. Groaning at her redoubled bruising, she got up and found herself on the floor, sweaty and tangled in bedding. As she stripped away damp sheets, she remembered what had caused her to fall from bed. 

She was running, but had no idea what was chasing her. To either side were rows and rows of people, like the audience at a tournament. Lords and ladies in silk and velvet turned into deformed monsters that screeched at her mindlessly. As she ran, she fell. The monstrous nobility swooped in on her, assaulting her. Just then, she woke. Disgusted with herself, she got up to wash her face of cold sweat. How long had it been since she'd had a nightmare? 

It was nearly dawn, and Kel felt sure she would not sleep again. Instead she tore through her saddlebags, examining each and every piece of equipment she owned, old or new, for anything that needed to be cleaned or mended. She polished her spy-glass to mirror-like perfection. She mended a pair of stockings. She reordered her traveling desk. By the time the sun was properly up she was so bored she seriously considered re-hemming all her breeches after breakfast. 

Instead, she packed all her things, saddled Hoshi and, ignoring the mare's reproach, followed the road Sir Martin had left by, only a day ago. 

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Disclaimer: The world of Tortall and all details therein are the property of Tamora Pierce, as are all characters except Sir Martin, Grandmother Genda and the healer. They, and the plot and wording of this story, are my own property and may not be copied without permission. 


	7. Consequence

Protected 

Around the village Grayside were farms and more farms. Fields of oats stretched between hedges, and small thatched houses were to be seen from the road. A company of soldiers is not so hard to spot, reasoned Keladry. I'll find them soon enough, camped in some pasture, hopefully reasoning with the offending party, bridging differences. 

And so she did. Riding off the road she led Hoshi along a path of broken grass to the rows of army tents erected in the middle of a green field, ordered around an area cleared of plant life. The two proud figures with their backs to her were certainly Zahir and Sir Martin. Twenty or so commoners were gathered around them, about half of them large, blue-skinned ogres. Keladry rode closer to see if either party were armed. 

"…have heeded my advice and left your weapons behind when you came today," Sir Martin was saying, "so perhaps this argument may be resolved to the satisfaction of all." 

A gray-haired man and a large ogre female nodded firmly. 

"There need be no violence here, no cost in blood," Sir Martin said. 

The leaders of opposing parties nodded again, although some of the younger members seemed disinclined to agree. 

"Will an unbiased party stand and lay out the details of the matter at hand?" Sir Martin asked. 

The gray-haired man took a step forward and bowed. "If it please milord," he said, and proceeded to lay out the tale of how the ogre matriarch Janila and her family had settled in Grayside after the war, and been more or less accepted into the community. Several of the ogres disagreed strongly with that statement. Last spring a new ogre came to Grayside. He did not work the land as Renan, Janila and their neighbors did, but stole his food from the fields of others. 

At this point Janila interrupted Renan's account and explained how some of the villagers had been harassing her family, because they believed they'd sheltered and fed the ogre thief over the winter. Renan argued that there was no other explanation, since the thief had returned the following spring, although he ought to have frozen to death in the snows. 

Keladry listened to the story from the sidelines, and watched Sir Martin's reactions carefully. Would he side with the humans? Would he demand that the ogre farms be searched for signs of the thief, validating the villagers' idea that they could be blamed for anything bad that happened. Keladry prayed to the Goddess that he would not be rash or bigoted. But prayer isn't enough, she thought. I have to act. 

"Sir, might I have a word?" asked Kel. 

"Of course, Lady Knight, I was just going to open conference with Sir Zahir," replied Sir Martin, and Kel thought he sounded irate. Unfazed, she followed the two knights to their point of conference, the central tent. 

"Well, there is the story they tell," said Sir Martin, his voice very soft, conscious of the nearness of the subject of their conversation. 

"It is difficult to tell who is in the right," remarked Zahir. 

"The arguments against the ogres are slim," said Kel. 

"It seems so," agreed Sir Martin, and Keladry hid her surprise. "The villagers themselves admit they'd had no trouble with their new neighbors for a decade or so. They admit, too, that some among them are strongly inclined against the ogres, and have been since their settling here." 

"Yet a question still remains," said Zahir. "To dismiss the charges of one party would be as unbalanced as to dismiss the other. I say we inquire in the matter of this thieving ogre. Perhaps we can track him, find evidence of where he spent the winter." 

"It's June," objected Kel. "Following a trail at least three months old is impractical." 

"What else can we do to find out the truth?" asked Zahir. "We could search the ogres' farmstead, look for signs that a stranger stayed there." 

"How are we to tell?" Kel asked. "Who's to say any evidence we find doesn't belong to someone in the family?" 

"It would appease the villagers." 

"Is _that_ what we're here to do?" 

"No," said Sir Martin firmly. "We have no evidence that the village ogres harbored the outlaw. For all we know, he hoarded his past thefts and laired through the winter. The accusations are unfounded, and the villagers have no cause nor right to lay a hand against their neighbors." 

Keladry's relief at the older knight's reaction was premature. Behind them the youths of both parties were already beyond shouting insults, and starting to brawl. Sir Martin held back most of the company, and dispatched only eight soldiers and the two knights to restrain the fighters while Janila and Renan lingered, unwilling to raise a hand against family. 

It was then that Keladry's head began pounding madly, and dizziness overtook her. The world dimmed and refocused as her mind fought to hold control of her eyes. As she gathered herself, an unfortunate strike that she could have easily parried caught her temple, and the battle was lost. 

_Disclaimer: The world of Tortall and all details therein are the property of Tamora Pierce, as are all characters except Sir Martin, Grandmother Genda, the healer, Janila and Renan. They, and the plot and wording of this story, are my own property and may not be copied without permission. _


	8. Repentance

Protected 

This, thought the knight, darkness falling down, oppressive and heavy as a quilt, has got to be the worst day of my life. When the darkness lifted, Neal and Yuki stood before her hand in hand. 

"You've been a fool," said Neal, chuckling appreciatively. 

Yuki nodded firmly. 

"You're not mad?" the knight asked her best friend in confusion. He smiled serenely and shook his head. "And you agree with him?" she asked again, and the Yamani nodded her head firmly, her dark eyes grievous. "I don't understand," complained Keladry. Feeling suddenly dizzy, she braced a hand on her wide thigh to sit down. But when she looked at her thigh she saw it was slashed and bleeding heavily through her faded cotton breeches. 

Her midriff bled as well, from cuts on her stomach and ribs that she could see, if not feel their effects. Kel felt bile rising up in her throat -- 

-- And sat bolt upright in patchy darkness, shivering in her coating of cold sweat. 

She was lying on a thickly-piled bedroll, and the dark around her was impenetrable to her blinking eyes. Kel fought nightmare-panic as her fingers grappled and dug into the sheets and the sweat on her skin evaporated, leaving her feeling cold and dry-mouthed. 

As she regained her night eyes Keladry saw her surroundings more clearly. She half-tumbled out of the mussed bedding and grabbed a nearby water bottle. She drank, then shivered. It was very cold. She padded back to the bedroll and wrapped herself up to the chin, falling asleep again. 

She had no more dreams, and woke again only when the light against the tent walls told her it was morning. There was a shadow against the door flap, and when she stirred, a familiar voice sounded, "I'm coming in." It was Zahir. 

"You've been a fool," he said, his face expressionless. 

"What happened?" 

"You received a blow to the head," said Zahir, his voice measured. "The damage was not very bad, but your fever picked up again, and Sir Martin said you should expect random dizziness and headaches for a week or so. Despite overwhelming odds, we managed to subdue the uprising without your invaluable fortitude." 

He was very definitely joking, Kel knew, but she'd had no idea Zahir possessed any sense of humor to speak of. Much less one so dry and deprecating. The perfectly serious and poised expression on his face also threw her off. It's almost enough to make one dizzy again, she mused wearily. With things as they were, there was only one other question she wanted to ask. "When do we leave?" 

"Today after lunch," said Zahir. 

The only fact he neglected in his impressively concise account was that Sir Martin intended to hold her to the choice she'd been offered days earlier. Examining the willow branch and hemp contraption before her doubtfully, Kel thought it was likely to be an equal menace to her health as Hoshi's temperate treatment. Sir Martin, however, was adamant. The litter frame was stretched between two horses and draped with blankets, and Keladry ordered onto it. 

Of course, she obeyed. The first two hours of the ride home were miserable. Once she got used to the litter's swaying, though, Kel's dizziness and tiredness took over and she fell asleep. When she woke, she saw the flank of a fine Bhazir mare. 

"Have I been punished enough?" she asked plaintively. 

Zahir laughed. "Plenty, I should think," he said. "The day I find myself in a litter must follow the night of the greatest battle since King Jasson's conquests." 

"I'd like to thank you for compounding my shame," remarked Kel wryly. 

"At your service, milady," replied Zahir. 

Kel shook her head faintly and gave up. Once she had, the journey back to Corus wasn't so bad, really. She pent most of her time sleeping or talking to Zahir. He often talked about his family, and for a change, she listened. Two days before they arrived in Corus her dizzy-spells and fever had completely vanished, so Kel was able to return to the city as she had left it, astride Hoshi and in high spirits. 

The morning after their return, Kel paid a visit to the Queenscove city residence. 

"Getting yourself into trouble again, Page Keladry?" asked Duke Baird when he saw her. 

"Who told?" she asked. 

"Your mother, of course," he said, smiling. 

"Is Neal very upset?" The thought of Neal's likely reaction to her ridiculous escapades was enough to make her giggle. 

"I broke the news to him last night," said the duke, "so as to keep the greater force of his reaction from you. I believe you've been through rather enough trauma, recently." 

"How very considerate of Your Grace," replied Kel courteously. 

"Neal and Yukimi are upstairs in their bower. I'm sure they would both like to see you. I hope you'll stay for supper?" 

"I'd love to," agreed Kel with a smile.  

_Disclaimer: The world of Tortall and all details therein are the property of Tamora Pierce, as are all characters except Sir Martin, Grandmother Genda, the healer, Janila and Renan. They, and the plot and wording of this story, are my own property and may not be copied without permission. _


End file.
